


Don't Think About It, Just Do It

by gwenweybourne



Series: Sunburn [1]
Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Blow Jobs, Dolenzsmith, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hand Jobs, M/M, Micky is freaked out, Mike is protective of Micky, Period-Typical Homophobia, RPS - Freeform, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: Micky and Mike try a new drug and have an unexpected experience during one long night together in a hotel room. Will it bring them closer or drive them apart in the end?





	1. That Night

**Author's Note:**

> Pure fiction. This never happened. 
> 
> This is my first attempt at Monkees slash fic. Filthy, filthy Monkees slash fic. It wasn’t supposed to be this filthy, but Micky and Mike had other ideas. Please be kind. I thank the fine fans on Tumblr who sent me down a rabbit hole of ship tags around the time I started watching the show again and seeing “moments” all over the place. I like all the ships, but there is something about dolenzsmith that resonates with me. I took a few liberties – keeping the timeline purposely vague, but it’s supposed to happen when the show was still airing, but while the band is on a live tour. Also, the drug our boys have taken is supposed to resemble Ecstasy/MDMA/Molly, but I am aware that this kind of party drug wasn’t so much on the scene during the late ’60s. But what the hell, this story constructed itself in my head one morning and I had to write it down. Also, a warning for sparing use of some period-specific homophobic language. 
> 
> It started off as a PWP, but ended up having some sweet, introspective, vulnerable moments in it as well.

 

“This stuff is far out,” Micky Dolenz sighed, throwing his arms up over his head, arching his back slightly. He’d pulled his shirt off a few minutes ago, complaining of feeling too warm.

“Do you even know what it is we took?” mumbled Mike Nesmith, who lay next to Micky on the king-size hotel bed.

Micky giggled. “I dunno, man.”

“What’s that they say about taking candy from strangers?”

“Well, they’re not strangers. Not really. They’re fans. The fans are cool.”

“The fans are children.”

“Not these fans,” said Micky. “ _Va-va-voom_. I wish they were here right now.”

“Mhm. I wish I hadn’t let you talk me into this. How do you always do that?”

“Now wait a second, Nez! You’re not telling it right. You never tell it right.” Micky flopped over onto his side and tugged at Mike’s shirt until Mike did the same, facing his friend.

Micky was grinning ear to ear as usual, but there was a slightly more manic glint to it than usual. His pupils were so blown out that his brown irises could barely be seen. Though Mike was pretty sure he was looking the same way. They’d dosed about two hours ago and things were getting interesting. He gave a low chuckle. “Oh, yeah? So, how did it really go?”

“So, this is me.” Micky pointed to himself and raised his voice in a caricature of his own voice. “Hey, Nez! I’m bored and I don’t wanna go out with the others. Wanna get high with your ol’ pal Micky?”

He pointed at Mike. “And this is you.” Then Micky took the pad of his thumb and placed it in the groove under Mike’s lower lip and used it to make Mike’s mouth move like a puppet. “Hey, Micky!” Micky squeaked in an even higher-pitched imitation of Mike. “That sounds groovy! I want to get high with you, Micky. I’m so lucky you’re my friend, Micky. You’re so smart and handsome and cool, Micky, ooooooh —”

Mike laughed and pulled away. “Get away from me, boy, you bother me,” he drawled in a poor attempt at imitating Bing Crosby.

“Lies, lies, lies!” Micky sing-songed, batting his eyelashes. “Friends don’t let friends trip aloooone. I’m glad you came with me.”

“Aw, you’re a big sop, is what you are, man,” said Mike. “Like, really, what is this stuff? Are you seeing anything?”

“Naw,” Micky said, pillowing his head on his arm and looking at Mike as if they were girlfriends having a slumber party. “But I’m feeling … like I said … far out.” Then he buried his face into the mattress and mock-screamed. “What I mean is that it’s making me really horny. Why didn’t those chicks tell me that? Why didn’t they try to come back here with me? They just split before I had a chance to make up my mind about it.”

“Sounds like you’ve been had, my furry friend,” Mike drawled, then chuckled again. “Like, you think they slipped us some Spanish Fly or some shit like that?”

“Naw, that stuff doesn’t work,” Micky sighed, pushing a hand through his mop of curly hair.

Mike looked at him.

“What? It doesn’t! I’ve tried it. So what?”

“Is there anything you _haven’t_ tried, Mick?”

Micky just smiled and looked coy. Something he exceled at.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t wanna know,” Mike chuckled.

“You mean you’re not feeling it, too? Horny?”

“Mick, I could fuck the chrome off a bumper right now. But that would also mean I’d need to leave the room and I don’t think I can stand up.”

“Standing up. Definitely a bad idea,” Micky concurred. “But why would you leave the room?”

“To rub one out, man. I ain’t doin’ that here. In front of you. You’re my pal, n’all, but that’s some faggot shit.”

“I didn’t say anything about faggot anything!” Micky said crossly. “Just saying I don’t care. Like Jimi says, let your freak flag fly. Get some.”

“If you wanna ‘get some’ so bad, just call up some chicks. There are probably some who are not complete jailbait down in the lobby takin’ numbers to ball the great Micky Dolenz.”

“Noooooooo …” Micky groaned and flopped over onto his back. “It’s too much work. They always wanna talk and hang out and that is not my bag tonight. _You_ wanna entertain here?”

“Fuck no! But there is a name for women who dispense with those kinds of pretences. The fee is more straightforward.”

Micky laughed. “I’m not getting a hooker, Nez!”

“Why not? Even Jagger does sometimes.”

“I suppose he told you that.”

“I suppose he did.”

“He did?”

“Naw, of course he didn’t,” said Mike, stretching and rolling his hips, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his growing erection. “But just ’cuz he didn’t don’t mean he don’t, you dig?”

Micky furrowed his brow, trying to follow Mike’s Texas-flavored stream of double negatives and quickly giving up. He did, however, notice Mike’s shifting position.

“Whoa nelly, that’s quite a stiffie you got there, pal.”

“Whatcha lookin’ down there for? And like you don’t have one of your own right now. This stuff we took is somethin’ else, man. Do you feel like, every fiber of this damn bedspread? Like … individually?”

Micky grinned. “Try it with your shirt off. It is a stone cold groove.”

Mike eyed Micky for a moment, then shrugged, struggling out of his shirt without having to sit up. “Hoe-lee … that is …”

“Like being kissed by a million butterflies,” Micky sighed.

Mike burst out laughing. “Yeah! Yeah, man. That’s exactly it! Shit.” He dropped his shirt to the floor and experimentally shifted his shoulders back and forth, letting the fabric rub against his skin. It might as well have been kissing his neck and taking its bra off because he was responding the same way. It was kind of freaking him out, but at the same time he felt so damn good.

Micky started giggling, softly at first and then harder. He raised his hands up and covered his face, shaking with laughter.

“What, what, what is it?” Mike asked, rolling onto his side again and poking Micky in the arm. The sensation felt weird, so he did it again. And again. Why did Micky’s skin feel so … nice.

“Hey, quit with the poking! What’re you doin’?” Micky complained, rolling onto his side as well, his beads around his neck clicking much louder than seemed normal. Mike wanted to touch those, too.

“What’s the joke?” Mike asked, trying to restrain himself from poking Micky again.

“What joke?”

“You were laughing. What was the joke?”

Micky broke out into another wide, gap-toothed grin. “That’s funny. I don’t know … I … yeah. It wasn’t a joke. I’m just having some real wild thoughts, Mike. Like, really far out.”

Mike grinned as well. Micky’s smile was infectious even when he wasn’t tripping out. “Yeah, like what?”

“Like …” Micky bit his lip, pausing for a long time, to the point where Mike wondered if he’d asked the question at all, then turned his head so he wasn’t looking right at Mike and his words were half muffled by the bed. “I wanna jerk you off.”

Mike blinked. “Wait. Say what?”

Micky lifted his head and looked at him. “You heard me. I mean … haven’t you always wondered what it would feel like? Getting a hand job from someone who actually has a dick and _really_ knows what to do with one?”

“Are you a fucking queer, Mick? This is something I think I would have noticed before!” Mike was horrified. Well, he knew he was supposed to be horrified. He was raised to be horrified by this kind of thing. Normally he would be properly horrified. But he was high on this crazy-ass mystery drug that had him harder than a steel girder and if Micky’s arm had felt nice to touch … imagine Micky’s hand on Mike’s cock? Fuck, what was he thinking?

“Labels, man!” Micky complained, absently fondling the beads on his necklace and Mike couldn’t stop watching the movement of his fingers and focusing on the sound. What a groovy sound. Could that be captured in a song somehow, wait … Micky was saying something about labels?

“Huh?”

“Labels! Pete’s always going off about that, too. Queer, fag, straight, head, dyke, whatever. We’re just _people_ , dig? If I wanna get my friend off because he needs it and I wanna see what it’s like … that doesn’t need a label. I’m your friend, Mike. And we. Are. On. Drugs.”

“We are _really_ on drugs,” Mike said. “Normally when a man propositions me, I proposition him back with a fist in the face.”

“Oh, please don’t hit me, Mike. My face is my fortune!” Micky riffed, giving him a winning smile, but there was a hint of panic behind it. “I’m not a queer, Mike. I swear. I just … don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just a one-time thing. These drugs are like what I thought something like Spanish Fly was supposed to be. But I don’t feel sick. I just feel …”

“Incredible,” Mike murmured. “You feel incredible. Everything feels incredible. The sound of your beads is making my dick even harder if that’s physically possible.”

“Huh?” Micky looked down and laughed. “Oh, shit! I didn’t even realize. Wow, yeah, it sounds so good. Everything feels good. So good. Imagine what getting off feels like.”

He wanted to touch Mike then. So bad. He looked good with his shirt off, though he didn’t often do so in public. He was just a groovy-looking guy overall. Which was weird for Micky because if he ever secretly grooved on guys, it was usually because they were the kind who were pretty like girls. Micky knew he was kind of pretty that way, too. Not like Davy, though. Davy was created by a team of scientists in a laboratory or something. And Mike was … a man. No two ways about it.

With his long wild curly hair, slender hips, long legs, and style of dress, Micky had been mistaken for a girl a few times. Rarely in California, but often in some more uptight parts of the country that hadn’t caught up with the revolution yet. Even that had almost gotten his face beaten in. The hippie long-hairs were despised enough, but most guys didn’t like to think they could be tricked, even if Micky had no desire for that kind of thing. He’d been hit on by guys before — it was Hollywood, after all — but he’d just politely turned them down. Wasn’t worth getting violent about it. He was a peace-loving cat. That part of Mike bothered him a bit, but Micky knew it was because of the way he was raised. A Christian Scientist in Texas. Micky came from a California showbiz family. He knew that he was more liberal than the average and that he had to cut other people some slack for their hang-ups. But Micky didn’t want to trick anyone into doing anything. He loved Mike and wanted him to want to take this trip with him, too.

Micky came out of his reverie when he felt Mike’s fingers brush ever so lightly against his chest and the sensation nearly made him gasp aloud, but he held it back and realized Mike had reached out to play with Micky’s beads. He fondled the smooth ceramic pieces, making them click and giving him something to look at other than Micky’s face.

“I don’t gotta do nothin’, right?” he murmured, though it wasn’t really a question.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, Mikey. Like, you don’t have to do me back. Though you might have to sit through me doin’ myself.”

“Seems fair.” Mike let out a snorting chuckle. “Jesus Christ, what are we even doing? … Hey, you called me Mikey.”

“Yeah.”

“You only do that when you’re … worried about me.”

“Yeah.”

Mike fondled the beads some more and experimentally drew his finger down Micky’s bare chest, feeling the other man shiver slightly at the touch. He was awfully pretty. Like a girl. But not like Davy, though. Davy was some kind of genetic freak. He was oddly touched that Micky was nervous about how Mike felt about what was happening. _He’s my friend. He wouldn’t hurt me. And ain’t really cheating. The others … that was cheating. I’m trying to be better about that. Gotta be better. But this is … it’s Micky. And it’s just this once. ’Cuz of the drugs._

He pursed his lips and said, very quietly. “I like kissing when I do it. Is that weird?”

Micky shrugged. “No. I like kissing. Who doesn’t like kissing? _Not_ kissing would be weird.”

“But, like … kissing a man?”

“You think that’s more weird than touching another man’s dick?”

“Kinda. It’s like … intimate.”

Micky shifted a little bit closer and Mike let him. “Well, yeah. I suppose it is. But we’re on some kind of far out love drug and we’re friends. Real good friends. I love you, Nez. You know that. We’ve been able to say that to each other for a while now. We know what it means.”

“Well … yeah,” Mike said shyly. “I love you, too, man. You’re just about the grooviest cat I know.”

“You trust me, right?”

“’Course I do.”

“And you can call it off any time. I’ll stop everything. I promise.”

“I know, Mick. I know.”

“I mean … plus, I know that — drugs or not — you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you put your mind to it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Big, strapping Texan sonuvabitch.”

“Oh, you sweet talker, you.”

“Mikey. Micky. Mikey. Micky. Can you imagine if we just insisted that you change your name to that on the show? How fucking confusing that would be? Mikey, Micky, Mikey …”

Mike grinned. Micky was getting closer. “Mikey, Micky, Mikey …”

Micky kissed Mike. Mike froze for a moment, then felt a rush of warmth flood through his body like a switch had been flipped on and Micky must have felt the same because they both moaned and broke the kiss because it took them by surprise.

“Outta sight,” Micky breathed. He didn’t get to finish his thought before Mike leaned in and kissed him, harder this time. Mike was more used to taking charge and Micky’s mouth was so warm and soft … when he closed his eyes Mike could almost pretend he was necking with a chick. Almost. The light stubble on Micky’s face kind of ruined that fantasy, but that was okay.

Micky let Mike take the lead and opened his mouth when Mike’s tongue licked over his lips and it felt … fine. Better than fine. Out of fucking sight is what it was. _Why did it take us so long to try this out? Oh, yeah … the drugs._ Whatever it was they were on, it was heightening everything. It now all seemed perfectly natural to make out passionately with a half-naked Michael Nesmith in a hotel room while the young girls who lusted after them were fruitlessly waiting for them in the hotel lobby and parking lot. The thought almost made him laugh, but the kissing was too good — _man, Mike is a really terrific kisser! He could teach a class or something …_ — and he didn’t want to freak his friend out. Mike was into the kissing, but skittish about this entire experiment. Micky reached out hesitantly and touched Mike’s bare chest, dragging his fingertips slowly down over soft skin and a light matting of dark hair. Mike twitched for a moment, but relaxed into the touch because it probably felt even more amazing to be on the receiving end. Every nerve ending was singing, and Mike’s skin felt like warm velvet. Micky was so hard and he just wanted to get off and put off this arousal that had been plaguing him for hours now, but he’d talked his friend into this crazy thing — no sense rushing it now.

He didn’t really want to go right for Mike’s pants yet. Though the kissing was addling his brain even worse than the drugs, Micky tried to think about what he did when he was with a chick. Top off, bra off, he was usually spending some quality time with a pair of tits. Micky kinda liked having his nipples played with when he was getting it on, but he didn’t know how to ask for it without sounding queer; and so if the girls didn’t give it a whirl, which they often didn’t — he was out of luck.

He stroked the pad of his thumb over one of Mike’s small, hard nipples and Mike gasped, breaking the kiss.

“Micky!”

Micky had seen Mike come to set more than a few times with love bites on his neck, which caused no end of consternation with the makeup team. He nuzzled into Mike’s neck and whispered. “Does it feel good, though?”

“Well, hell yeah, it sure does, but …” Mike let out a moan as Micky kissed his neck, sucking and licking, and dared to rub Mike’s nipples a little more.

“Fuck!” Mike blurted out, his hips bucking forward. “Micky, Jesus … I …”

Mike’s reactions were really turning Micky on even more. Now he was the one taking charge as he began to figure out the things that Mike got off on. Then again, just existing was getting them off right now as their high was beginning to peak.

“Open your pants, Mikey,” he murmured. “Don’t think about it … just do it. You’re all right, man. You’re okay.”

Mike went liquid as Micky did more unspeakable things with his tongue to the sensitive skin of his neck and his hands shook as he fumbled open his belt and jeans, shoving them down with his shorts and pulling out his cock. _What am I doing? This is wrong. This is crazy._

But then Micky pulled away from Mike’s neck to spit into his hand and then his mouth was back on Mike’s and he wrapped his hand around Mike’s erection and began to stroke it hard and fast before either one of them could lose their nerve.

The sound Mike made … well, he wasn’t sure what it was. That he was capable of making a sound like that. But it was enough to break the kiss and even had Micky giggling. “Shhhh, man! Keep it down a bit!”

“Fuck, Micky,” Mike cursed, barely even aware of what he was saying. He was so hard and so horny, and Micky was right … no chick had ever touched him like this. Micky had large, masculine hands, callused from crash courses in drumming and long hours of rehearsal. And he wasn’t being gentle — because he had a good idea of what Mike could take and what would feel the best in this situation. And it was fucking good. It was so good it scared him. _It’s the drugs, man. Just the drugs. We’re just foolin’ around._

* * *

Micky had seen Mike naked before. They all had seen each other naked lots of times. Costume changes and sharing dressing rooms and hotel rooms in the very early days before Monkeemania really took off. He’d been to his share of Hollywood free love parties full of people walking around in various states of undress and indulging in semi-public screwing. Hell, he’d hosted parties like that. Not quite Peter Tork level of freaky, but still pretty far out. That was no big deal — no different than the locker rooms at school or skinny dipping at the beach. But this was different. He was nervous, but they’d come too far now, and he wasn’t going to leave Mike hanging after promising him he’d look after him and that everything was going to be okay.

Thankfully the drugs — the reason why they were doing this in the first place — had filled him with a sense of hazy euphoria that outweighed any nerves and he just decided to go at Mike the way he wanted to go at himself right now. Hard and fast and good. They’d been flying for ages now and the sound Mike made when Micky touched him almost made him cream his jeans like a teenage boy. It was … sexy. But loud. For the first time he vaguely worried about someone finding out what they were doing. But that was a downer — _get in the moment man!_ — and he went back to kissing Mike’s neck and ears and drinking the sounds of his moans and shuddery breaths and equal parts cursing and praising Micky’s name. He had to admit, the filthy talk was a turn-on, too. It was all so different from getting it on with a chick. Mike’s cock was hot and hard in his hand. He was bigger than Micky and his fevered thoughts wandered away to what it was like to get fucked by Nez with that dick. Whoa.

And then he couldn’t think at all because Mike had grabbed him and kissed him hard and deep and Micky startled and had to adjust the angle of his grip, but he figured it out and moaned helplessly into the kiss because it felt so good. He really wanted Mike to touch him the same way he was touching him right now. He felt so good, but he was chasing this ultimate pleasure high now. Everything had fallen away, and it was just him and Mike and some of the most raw sexual need he’d ever experienced. But Mike was holding him …. clutching Micky close like a lover and he liked it, and, oh god, what was happening?

And then Mike broke the kiss again and groaned. “Micky … I’m gonna … I’m …”

And Micky watched, astonished, as Mike came, gritting his teeth to not cry out as loudly as he wanted to, but the sound came out anyway and Micky felt him shoot over his hand and holy shit, this was real. They’d done this. He slowed his stroke, but didn’t let go until Mike went limp next to him. Micky slowly withdrew his hand and absently wiped it behind him on the blanket.

And then the nerves came back. For the very first time he kind of understood why girls worried about guys “respecting” them after the deed. Hell, off the top of his head he could think of a dozen girls who’d stopped interesting him once they’d put out and he’d gotten off. What if Mike was like that … but more like … what if he regretted it? Got mad? Felt like Micky tricked him into it? Or worse … walked away entirely. Micky decided he’d rather take a beating from Mike and be done with it than lose his good friend. His bandmate. Because they were a band now. No matter what anyone else said. The Monkees were real and Micky hoped he hadn’t just loused it all up.

* * *

Dear sweet Jesus. He hadn’t come like that in a long time. It was probably the drugs. Yeah, that had to be it. It was taking ordinary stuff and making it a bigger deal than usual. It was easier to think about that than to really acknowledge that he’d just received the hand job of a lifetime from Micky Dolenz.

Micky. Who was watching him now. His eyes and face radiating insecure anxiety.

It took him a second to form the words, but he got them out. “What’s wrong, Mick? Y’alright?”

Micky’s stricken expression turned cautiously hopeful. “It’s okay?” he said softly. “You’re not mad?”

 _Huh?_ “Not mad about what?”

“What I did. What we did. Now that you’ve …” Micky pointed his index finger and then curled it down to pantomime … well, it didn’t need explaining.

_He’s scared. Poor fella thinks I’m gonna wallop him one now I’ve gotten my rocks off._

To be fair, it had felt really freaky to have an orgasm and know that Micky saw the whole thing. Brought the whole thing on. And his head was a little clearer now, but he was still high as hell and already his brain was asking him when they could do it again.

Again. That was some thought. What if they could just ride out this crazy high together, fucking around and getting off as much as they could before they came down? He felt his cock twitch very slightly at the thought. _Oh, brother. I’m in trouble._

But first …

“It’s all right, baby. Don’t look so scared. We’re cool.” Mike leaned in and kissed Micky, but softly and slowly this time. The way he’d kiss a nervous girl to put her at ease.

Micky stared at him when kiss ended, then licked his lips slowly. “You got a license for that, Mike? Fucking hell, where’d you learn to kiss like that?”

Mike just smirked and kissed him again, thoroughly, until he could be sure that Micky would be breathless and reassured that nothing had changed between them. Okay, so kissing was a weird way to express that, but they were here together, two consenting adults, and Mike had made a decision.

“Roll over on the other side and get yer pants down,” he instructed softly, but firmly.

“Wait … what?” Micky stammered.

“I can figure out how to do it better if I can get an angle more like how I do it to myself.”

Micky blinked and then rolled onto his right side, facing away from Mike, who spooned up behind him, sliding his right arm underneath Micky’s torso to hold him, his left hand stroking down the length of Micky’s chest.

“Are you sure, Mike?” Micky said shakily. “You really sure? You don’t have to. I don’t want you to think that you —”

Mike nuzzled into Micky’s soft curls to kiss his neck until the other man moaned softly. “You’ve seen what happens when folks try to make me do something I really don’t wanna do,” he murmured in a throaty voice by Micky’s ear. “And this ain’t that. Now, like a wise man once told me … don’t think about it … just do it.”

Micky made a shaky “uh-huh” sound and fumbled his jeans open, tugging them down and finally freeing his erection.

And Mike spat into his hand and was rewarded by Micky’s grateful moan of pleasure when he wrapped his fingers around his hard dick and began to stroke him.

“Is that good, baby?” he murmured, his lips brushing Micky’s ear.

“It’s really good. It’s so good,” Micky whimpered, his hips thrusting forward into Mike’s hand.

“What else do you like, Mick?” He was kissing Micky’s smooth, tanned shoulder and couldn’t believe the things that were coming out of his mouth, but there was something weirdly sexy about holding Micky like this … being in control of his pleasure.

Micky let out a shuddery breath and moaned. “I … my nipples. I know it’s weird, but … ahhhhh! Yeah … that’s far out … god …”

_Musta been why he tried that with me. It was pretty darn good._

Micky trembled in Mike’s arms as he stroked Micky’s cock and teased his nipples, kissing his neck and ear, enjoying the soft tickles of Micky’s hair against his face and the sounds his friend was making. He found himself not just wanting to get Mick off as fast as possible, but touching him in different ways to see what he liked. Micky was a responsive person who lived close to the surface in his everyday life, so it made sense that he was sexually responsive as well. Mike, who was more of the reserved “still waters run deep” sort, always figured that’s what drew him to Micky. And Micky just accepted Mike for the person he was. It wasn’t as hard to be around Micky as it could be with the others. With people, in general. Sunny Micky even found a way to break through Mike’s misanthropic tendencies. And it often made Mike feel oddly protective of the younger man.

“Please … please …” Micky pleaded mindlessly, his hips bucking as he thrust into Mike’s fist, barely capable of speech at all by this point. Mike took the hint and keep stroking him in just that way, feeling Micky beginning to tense up as he got closer to orgasm.

“I got you, baby. I got you … it’s all cool,” he murmured. “Let it all go.”

Mike’s hips were moving and he realized he was unconsciously rubbing his still-exposed dick up against Micky’s half-bare ass and Micky was rubbing back against him as he thrust forward into Mike’s grip. He wasn’t hard — it was too soon for that, but it felt good. Too good. Shit, shit, shit.

He growled and sank his teeth into Micky’s soft neck while pinching a nipple and it was enough to trigger Micky very suddenly, and his hands flew up to cover his face and muffle his surprised cry of pleasure as he shook in Mike’s embrace, shooting over Mike’s hand and his quivering stomach.

Mike took his hand away and wiped it on Micky’s denim-clad thigh, pressing his face into the back of Micky’s neck, where his hair curled even tighter from the damp heat rising off him. Micky was boneless, breathing shakily, still unable to form words and so all was silent for several minutes.

Finally.

“… wow.”

Mike managed a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Wow. What did we just do?”

“I’m just gonna take that as rhetorical, Nez. I can’t answer that.”

“Probably for the best. But, for the record, that wasn’t even my dominant hand.”

“Jeeeeez-us. Nez!”

Micky laughed as he shifted, making to roll over to face Mike and Mike moved back a little to give him room, smirking in response. He had to admit he was feeling weirdly proud of himself for the way he’d gotten Micky off.

Micky faced him, his cheeks flushed from the aftermath of his orgasm and his brown eyes sparkled with their usual mischievous cheer. “How do you feel?”

“I dunno. Okay. Confused. Relieved. Still high as shit. Fuckin’ _thirsty_. You name it, I think I’m feeling it, man.”

“Yeah … yeah.” Micky sat up very slowly, waiting a moment for his head to stop swimming. “Water would be righteous right now.”

“I will pay you actual money if you get me a glass of water.”

“Pfffft, no you won’t.”

“Okay, I won’t, but let’s pretend I did.”

“Deal of the century.” Micky tucked himself back into his shorts and swung his legs carefully over the edge of the bed, but saw the mess of semen on his jeans from where Mike had wiped his hand off, and also on his stomach, made a face, kicking the pants the rest of the way off and just leaving his shorts on. It was hardly the time for formalities after what they’d done. He stood up gingerly, testing his balance, then stumbled off to the bathroom. “I wonder how long this trip lasts.”

Mike squinted at the clock on the bedside table. “I dunno, Mick. But if it’s anything like acid, we’re in this for the long haul. You cool?”

Micky didn’t answer. Mike could hear him urinating in the bathroom, then the toilet flushed and the sink ran, and the sound of the water in the sink was like beautiful music. Dang, he was thirsty. He also decided Micky had the right idea and awkwardly kicked off his jeans that were still tangled around his calves.

Micky came back with four small hotel glasses of water awkwardly cradled in his arms. “I just drank two and I already want more. I think maybe we need to drink more water on this trip, Nez. I think those chicks said something about that.”

“Well, water we got,” said Mike, forcing himself to sit up and reaching out to relieve Micky of two of the glasses. “Appreciate you making the journey, good buddy. Guess I’ll make the next safari.”

“Oh, thank god. Don’t make me go back there. I’m wearied from the adventure. Did you get my postcard? I paid extra for express service.”

Mike downed the first glass of water in a single go and took a gasping breath. “Sure did, pal. Glad to hear the missus is good. The weather’s just fine here, but I wish I was there, too.”

“That’s nice,” Micky sighed. He drank half of the next glass of water and eased back down onto the bed. “I always wish I was there.”

The banter felt good. It was safe and comfortable. Effortless. He and Nez had found that groove upon meeting and it was always a place to retreat to when things got heavy. In this case it felt like mutual reassurance that things were okay. They were still Micky and Nez, despite what had just happened.

Mike set down the second empty glass and lay down to rest his head on the pillow, facing Micky. They grinned somewhat bashfully at each other. Micky reached out and ran his fingertips very lightly down Mike’s bare arm.

“Wow. Still …”

“Feels fucking amazing. Even that water was the best dang thing I’ve ever had.”

“Everything is so good. Why it can’t it be this good all the time?” Micky continued running his fingers up and down Mike’s arm and Mike made a small sound in the back of his throat. He nudged closer to Micky.

“Hey, Mick …”

“Yeah?”

“This trip is gonna last a while longer. You wanna do … more? I want more.”

“Oh, yeah. I wanna do more, Mikey.”

And Mike rolled on top of Micky, pressing him back into the pillows, kissing him deeply and drinking in Micky’s moan of pleasure as he wrapped his arms around Mike.

It felt strange to Micky. Strange but good. Usually he was on the top in this configuration if he was with a woman. And Mike was all long limbs and sharp angles and stubbled face and no soft curves, but man, could he kiss. And even though Micky had just come not too long ago, he felt the warmth building low in his groin again. Mike was getting hard again and was rutting slowly in the groove where Micky’s leg met his pelvis. Mike broke the kiss to bury his face in Micky’s neck, kissing and licking him there and Micky gasped. “Mike! Oh my god.”

He stroked his hands down the smooth, broad expanse of Mike’s back, but stopped short above his ass. It was one thing to do what they’d done so far, but everyone knew that ass stuff was for homos and queers and that’s not what this was. Though he wasn’t sure why it was different and why it even mattered, but he didn’t want to spook Mike. Not when Micky was already thinking of the next time they were going to get off and how many more times tonight, depending on how much stamina the drug gave them.

And then Mike lifted his head and hovered over Micky, sloe-eyed and swollen-lipped, smirking, looking thoroughly debauched, and Micky made a soft sound in the back of his throat, speechless. He looked so good.

_He wants something. He’s gonna ask me to do something. And I’ll fuckin’ do it. I’ll do anything right now if he keeps looking at me like that. If he’ll talk dirty to me and make me come again._

“Mike …” he whispered, stroking his hands up Mike’s arms that were braced on either side of his head.

“You ever given head?” Mike murmured.

Micky let out a puff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Not to a guy. Gotten a lot of it from girls, though …”

Mike rolled his hips so his erection rubbed against Micky’s growing cock. Micky groaned softly.

“You … wanna?” Mike asked softly. “Only if you wanna. And I can’t promise I can return the favour. I want it way more than I wanna give it back. I don’t know if … I can do that.”

Micky smirked, then folded his arms behind his head in a show of nonchalance and looked up at Mike. “Ask me nicely, Nez. Ask me real nice.”

Mike snorted. “Oh, you little … so-and-so …”

“Nice try, but that wasn’t all that nice. You can do better. Think of what you’re literally asking me to do.” And, to be even more of a brat, Micky bit his lip and rolled his hips up to give more friction against Mike’s hard-on.

Mike growled in the back of his throat and he gave Micky his deadly “I’m gonna sock you one if you don’t quit it” smile.

Micky stared him down, still smiling. He was totally going to do it, but with no guarantee of a return on his investment, it made good sense to make Nez work for it a little. Also, it was really fun. He wasn’t a starry-eyed groupie, for god’s sake.

Mike let out a frustrated groan, then laughed, before lowering himself down to kiss Micky softly, murmuring against his mouth. “Please suck my dick, Micky. Pretty please.” He kissed Micky again, deeper, until Micky moaned. Mike kissed his earlobe and tugged it between his teeth before purring. “Put my dick in your mouth. I liked your mouth before, but I really like it now.”

“Oh, fuck …” Micky gasped.

Mike raised himself up again and looked down at Micky, his mouth quirked in a smug half-smile. “Was that nice enough for ya, kid?”

Micky nodded dumbly. Looking down at his now tented shorts. “Yeah. That was real nice, Mike.”

Mike rolled over onto his back, looked down, shrugged, and pulled his shorts off entirely. They’d both seen and touched so much by now that wearing any clothes seemed kind of silly now.

Micky did the same and then, feeling nervous again, got up on his hands and knees and moved over, nudging Mike’s legs apart to kneel between them. But then he hovered over Mike the same way. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good, Nez. Even with the drugs turning up the volume on this whole scene.”

Mike smiled a little, affectionately, and reached up to run his fingers through Micky’s hair, then tracing the lines of his jaw with his thumbs. “It’s all good, baby. You just remember the golden rule: no teeth.”

Micky chuckled. “Yeah. That’s the big one. And uh, also … gimme some warning before … you know. Be a pal, okay?”

Mike held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Micky smirked. “You’re a real smart-ass, you know that?”

“You like that about me, though.”

“Yeah, I really do. Lucky you.” Micky leaned down and kissed Mike’s mouth, licking inside, then trailing slow kisses down his throat. Mike, who hadn’t been expecting Micky to take the scenic route down, let out a shuddering groan at the heightened sensation of Micky’s soft mouth moving over his skin.

Micky paused to lick and suck at Mike’s nipples, which made Mike arch up and hiss in pleasure. Micky smiled against his skin. This … this he knew how to do. He loved going down on girls — especially the ones who he could tell never got it from other guys who thought it was sick, but wouldn’t hesitate to demand head from them. He wondered if Mike was like that. A little selfish in bed. Like how he was asking for head from Micky, but not offering to return the favor. Micky wasn’t particularly bothered by this, considering the freaky circumstances of this whole thing, anyway. But he believed that a guy should give as good as he got, no matter who it was. It just seemed fair. And it made sex even better, in his opinion.

He cradled Mike’s skinny hips in his hands and then let his palms slide up each side of his torso. It felt strange — the shape of his body so different. He’d been with some real skinny chicks, but they still had curves and tits. But Mike was a sexy guy and the drugs made all the touching feel so damn good.

Mike was certainly responding, groaning Micky’s name with a sense of awe. Micky smiled again and licked Mike’s hipbone. “You asked me so nicely, so I’m being real nice, Nez.”

He got a throaty chuckle in response.

But now it was foreign territory. Micky found himself faced with Mike’s cock, which seemed even bigger than when he was fisting it a little while ago. Frowning, he gripped it and gave it a little squeeze, rubbing his thumb around the head in a way he knew he usually liked. Mike groaned. “Oh god, yeah. Micky … c’mon …”

“I mean …” Micky looked helplessly at Mike. “Seriously … ‘c’mon’? It’s a known fact that you’ve always been packing more heat than the rest of us, man, but this is ridiculous. You’re giving me a complex.”

Mike pushed up on his elbows and looked down at Micky. “Ain’t the size of the boat …”

“It’s the motion of the ocean, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say,” said Micky.

“Look, if you really don’t wanna …”

“No,” said Micky defensively. “It’s not that. Just … gimme a second. I mean, if girls can do it …”

“Oh, and they do … you know that.”

Micky was never going to bug a chick to hurry up and get to it ever again. At least he’d try to remember. But he pushed his nerves and mild annoyance aside and decided to look at it as a challenge. His own spit was all over Mike’s cock anyway from earlier. He licked it experimentally and felt Mike shudder in pleasure. He did that for a little while, licking and squeezing and stroking, getting used to it and Mike didn’t say any more to get him to hurry up.

And then, finally, when Mike was breathing hard and fast and his hips were beginning to twitch, Micky opened his mouth and took him inside, sucking on the head and then trying to take more in and Mike let out another one of those ungodly sounds, that went right to Micky’s cock and, well, there he was … sucking dick. He was always getting guff for his big mouth — in the figurative sense. But in the literal sense, it was pretty useful at the moment.

* * *

This was a trip. A trip on top of a trip. Mike couldn’t believe he’d had the gall to ask Micky for head, but it seemed like almost everything was on the table now after their first experiment. Except Mike knew he couldn’t do it back. It was too much. And he was married, for god’s sake. He was trying to compartmentalize that. Giving a handy was one thing, but sucking a dick? No way. Even on drugs that was a major move.

But … getting Micky to suck his dick? For some reason that seemed okay. He wasn’t questioning that right now. Especially once Micky started licking and kissing him everywhere and it was making Mike just wanna to throw him down and screw his brains out, even though he knew that wasn’t possible. That was also a whole different bag that he wasn’t prepared for.

Micky was taking his time down there, but Mike didn’t push him. It was killing him, but he knew it would be unfair to pressure Micky more than he already had. He held on, trying to enjoy all the sensations, but then Micky took him inside his hot mouth and … jesus. He tried hard to hold still until Micky got used to it and found a kind of rhythm and then he was moving up and down and working his tongue over the shaft and Mike’s eyes rolled back into his head. He reached down and buried his big hands into Micky’s big mop of hair and pulled at it, trying to resist the urge to fuck his mouth, but finding the sight of his head bobbing up and down on his dick to be a huge turn-on. Mike had a good-sized member, but Micky handled him easily in the end. Which was blowing his mind.

Micky moaned around his cock in response to the hair-pulling, while also felt incredible and Mike looked down to see that Micky had angled himself so he could rub his cock against the blanket and get himself off at the same time. Oh yeah.

“That’s good, baby,” he groaned. “So fucking good. Get yourself off, too, Mick. A million butterflies kissing your dick. Think about that.”

Micky groaned and sucked harder and Mike pulled harder at his hair, watching Micky fucking against the bed, his skinny hips rolling rhythmically and hard — which gave Mike a pretty good visual of what Mick looked like when he was making it with someone, and it was kinda sexy — suddenly hoping they could come together this time. He felt himself being raised up and up and up and soon he was gasping with pleasure and moaning and then … oh god, he released Micky’s hair, but clumsily tried to tap his head to warn him … which ended up being more a smack and Micky pulled off with a gasp. “What the hell, Nez … oh, shit …”

He managed to shift away, but fisted Mike’s cock and stroked him through as Mike let out a groaning cry and came, shooting over his stomach and chest. Micky let his hand fall away and rested his head against Mike’s thigh and rutted hard against the bed, Mike’s moans ringing in his ears as he climaxed moments later, biting Mike’s thigh to muffle his cries as the waves of pleasure rolled and crashed over him. And then he collapsed, gasping, looking at the teeth marks he’d left behind on Mike’s inner thigh, smiling crookedly at his work, but glad he hadn’t broken the skin. He rubbed his tired jaw and closed his eyes for a few moments.

Mike nudged him with his leg. “C’mere, Mick.”

“Mhmmm. Can’t.”

“Naw, c’mere. Please.”

 _Please_. Not a word Nez dusted off too often. Micky groaned dramatically and hauled himself back up the bed to collapse gracelessly next to Mike, facing his friend.

Mike looked at him and gave a small smile, reaching out to gently rub Micky’s jaw muscles for him. Micky made a tired, happy sound, closing his eyes and letting Mike cradle his jaw in his large hand, enjoying his touch. Mike smiled again and brushed Micky’s tousled hair back off his sweaty forehead. “That was really far out, Micky. Really cool. You’re … amazing.” _Brave_. That’s the word he really wanted to use, but he couldn’t muster it. Micky was so fearless sometimes. And sure of himself. Of who he was. Mike was so much more measured in how he lived and behaved. Most times he felt that this gave him an edge, but sometimes he felt like maybe he was just a chicken.

Micky chuckled and nuzzled into Mike’s shoulder. “I’d say ‘any time,’ but that’s not really the case here. I dunno … I wanted to try it. And you wanted it. I don’t let people push me around either, y’know. Not even Michael goddamn Nesmith.”

Mike kissed the top of his head, then slowly sat up, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and gathered up the glasses. “My turn for a water run. And to clean myself up. You do realize we’re gonna have to burn that damn bedspread.”

“No joke,” Micky chuckled. “Maybe setting a fire would help our rock ’n’ roll rep.”

“Fat chance!” Mike called as he stumbled into the bathroom. “Not even if we burned down the whole dang hotel!”

Micky climbed under the covers and closed his eyes. He’d definitely peaked and was starting to come down. Slowly. It would be a little while yet, but he needed a rest.

When Mike came back with more water, Micky was snoring softly, curled up around his pillow. Mike set the glasses down and drank one and then another, and glanced at the clock. It was late, but he wasn’t down yet. On his way, but not at the finish line yet. But tired. Maybe he could stay a little longer. Just have a rest. He clicked off the light and climbed under the covers as well, not quite touching Micky, but close enough to feel his warmth. He didn’t think he would sleep, but he was out minutes later.

* * *

When Micky woke the first time it was because Mike was kissing him softly, lightly, on his neck and shoulder. The room was very dark and quiet. Hours had passed. Or minutes? He had no idea. “Mike?” he whispered softly.

“Are you down yet?” Mike whispered, running a hand over his chest and nipples. Micky was tired, but his body was definitely waking up to Mike’s touch.

“Almost? I think? I dunno.” He wasn’t quite awake yet, but now he was responding when Mike kissed him on the mouth, soft and warm and hungry.

“One more, Mick,” Mike murmured against his lips. “Nice ’n’ slow. Just one more.”

“One more,” Micky whispered, running his hand down Mike’s side and stroking the small of his back. This was wild. A few hours ago they’d been nervous to even touch each other and now they were holding each other, and it felt all right. Better than all right.

The frantic action from earlier had finally slowed and they just moved quietly together in the dark, kissing and stroking each other, and it was quiet except for soft sounds of pleasure and the creak of the mattress. It almost felt dreamlike at that point and later Micky would almost wonder if he’d imagined it.

Mike came first, but stayed present to bring Micky off minutes later, kissing him through his whimpers of pleasure.

“Oh fuck,” Micky sighed, collapsing back into his pillow. He felt like he could sleep for a thousand years. And he was starting to feel a little strung out as the drug wore off.

Mike had got up and came back with more water and a small towel. He cleaned them both up a little and tossed the towel aside. “Hey, Mick,” he whispered.

“Mmmm,” Micky was already half asleep again.

“Micky!”

“What?”

“You need to drink some more water.”

“Naw, naw, m’okay.”

“Nothin' doin’, kid. Drink some water. C’mon.”

Mike reached down and gently, but firmly, pulled Micky into a sitting position and cradled him in his arms. He chuckled. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”

“Wah-wah,” Micky said grumpily. “Why d’you call me kid? You’re only three years older.”

“Might as well be a hundred sometimes, baby. Here. Drink. Don’t make me actually do it for you.”

Micky grumbled, but took the glass and drank it down.

“Drink more later. I’m gonna split now.”

Micky frowned. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bummed out. “Okay.”

Mike pressed a chaste kiss to Micky’s forehead and let the other man sink back into the bed. He tugged on his shorts and jeans — feeling for his room key in the pocket — and gathered up his shirt, socks, and shoes.

He paused, unsure of what to say before leaving. “Thanks for all the sex, buddy”? This wasn’t exactly a typical one-night stand. He was going to see Micky in a few hours and every day after that … for years, maybe.

He had no idea how either of them was going to feel about all this when the sun came up and real life resumed. But maybe it was his turn to be a little more fearless like Micky and just take it for what it was. Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. He didn’t think he’d find himself a person who could literally be all three in one package. _Maybe I’m luckier than I know._

He heard the steady sound of Micky’s breathing as he fell back asleep and took that as a sign to just go. He peeked out into the hallway and made a break for it while it was deserted.


	2. The Next Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea what the band's morning schedule is like on tour, but this is my best guess. Brief name-drop of Ward Sylvester, who served as their tour manager around that time.

The second time Micky woke up, it was to the customary _bang-bang-bang_ on his door as their tour manager doled out the wake-up calls. “Thirty minutes, guys! Not thirty-one or twenty-eight — thirty minutes! We got promo! Security is coming to escort you out the back.”

He groaned and pulled the sheet up over his head. Fuck that. His head was pounding and his brain felt like a deflated beach ball. He just wanted to sleep and tried to do just that.

But then there was more knocking on his door and then he heard Davy’s voice. “Just gimme the key, Ward. I’ll take care of it.”

_Oh shit._

He heard the click of the key in the lock and then the youngest Monkee burst into Micky’s room. “Good morning, sunshine!” he sang, launching himself onto the bed on his knees and bouncing the mattress up and down. “Wakey-wakey!”

Micky groaned and tried to burrow down deeper into the sheets. “Fuck off, Davy! I mean it!”

“Oi, that’s not very nice, Mick … _Phwoar!_ ” Davy stopped moving suddenly as he breathed in the smell of the room. “Crikey, mate! It smells like a porno theater in here! Did you host a bloody orgy last night?” He looked down at the bed and quickly clambered off, looking down at himself as he expected to find himself covered in spunk. “I think I might be jealous, but I’m not sure.”

Davy then sprinted over to the nearest window, tugging the curtains apart and yanking it open to let in fresh air. Then he went back over and roughly tugged the sheet down to expose Micky’s head and shoulders. “What did you take last night, Micky? You look like shit.”

“Thanks, you’re a real pal,” Micky groaned, squinting against the light and struggling to sit up even as his head threatened to explode. He reached blindly for a glass of stale water on the bedside table and downed it, but it felt like a drop in a desert.

Davy paused, looking more sympathetic now. “Well, mate, if it’s any consolation, I’m still a little tipsy, meself. But just the right amount. Figure it’s enough to get me through the promo and then I can kip for a couple of hours before the show. But I think you need more help.”

Micky stared blearily at him, barely listening. And then he started remembering everything from the night. Mike … oh, god. Mike! He didn’t even remember Mike leaving … or… no, wait. He did. He remembered the darkness. Mike’s mouth and hands. So gentle. Like a dream. And then a kiss to his forehead and a lecture to drink more water.

But Davy didn’t even notice Micky’s stunned crisis of conscience and was cheerily setting up a line of cocaine for him on the table. “C’mon, Mick. A little snort will do ya. Get you over the hump, so to speak.” He smirked. “Though I think you did enough humping last night, yeah?”

“I really, really don’t wanna talk about it,” Micky groaned, eyeing the coke on the table. It was truly the last thing he wanted right now, but Davy was right … it was the only thing that was going to get him up and able to do his job this morning.

Davy sighed and rolled up a bill he dug out from his pocket. “Come on now. It’s not so bad. A little hit and then a shower and you’ll be right as rain.” He chuckled. “Do something about that hair, though. You look like the Bride of Frankenstein, mate.”

Micky passed a hand over his hair and it did feel like it was standing on end. And then he remembered Mike’s hands buried in it, pulling and tugging as Micky worked his mouth over his cock and … fuck. The memory was equally embarrassing and arousing. He did not have the energy to sort out which was which at the moment. He’d worry about that later. He slid over to the edge of the bed, taking the sheet with him so that another one of his bandmates didn’t get a close-up of his dick today.

Davy handed him the makeshift straw and patted him gently on the shoulder. “There you go. Take your medicine.”

Micky groaned softly, then leaned over and did the blow in one quick snort, sitting up quickly and squeezing his eyes shut as it smashed behind his eyes and then ran down the back of his throat, making him snort and cough.

“Atta boy,” Davy encouraged. “Now get up. I’m not leaving until you’re in that shower.”

“Fine, fine, fine. Fuck you.” Micky tried gathering the sheet up to wear for the long journey to the bathroom, but got tangled up and let it drop, frustrated. “Screw it! I’m naked! Deal with it!”

Davy cracked up. “Nothing I ain’t seen before, mate. Now _get_!”

Micky stumbled to the bathroom, flipping Davy off as he did so.

“I love you, too, Mick-eeeee!” Davy laughed, then gingerly picked up an end of the sheet to wipe away any conspicuous coke residue from the table before quickly dropping it. He made a face and wiped his hands on his trousers after.

* * *

Micky slammed the door behind him and stared at himself in the mirror. Well, this was wonderful. Again, Davy was right. He looked like absolute shit. He was sticky everywhere. He stank. He turned on the tap and drank directly from it, gulp after gulp after gulp until he thought he might be sick, and then pulled away, gasping. Then he stumbled into the shower and turned it on.

“OKAY, I’M IN THE SHOWER, AWRIGHT!” he yelled, then winced as his voice bounced off the tiles.

He heard the door close as Davy, mission accomplished, left the room. Micky sighed and went through the motions of washing, trying not to think about everything he’d done with Mike last night. All of Nez’s reassurances last night seemed meaningless now in the harsh light of day. What would be it like when he saw him? Knowing Mike, he’d probably just pretend that nothing had happened, and that was probably for the best. The taciturn Texan wasn’t one for “big talks” when things got heavy. They’d discussed it already, right? It was those crazy sex drugs. That was all. They’d had their night and it was over now. Business as usual. Right.

By the time Micky had finished showering, the coke was doing its job and he was feeling more alert. His head was still pounding, but he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out now. He drank some more water, brushed his teeth, and tried to do something about his hair, but there wasn’t time to make it look “right.” Depending on the weather and the alignment of the stars, it still sometimes needed work even when he wore it natural. It was the difference between a head of wild, groovy curls and a Brillo pad. He couldn’t remember if they were just doing radio or not, but even with radio, they liked to take pictures. Whatever. That wasn’t his job. Let the Monkee machine worry about that. He just had to be there and “be” the Micky Dolenz people knew from TV. That would take enough energy today without worrying about whether every hair was in place. Or any of them.

He quickly dressed in clean clothes and shoved the dirty ones into his suitcase. He balled up the filthy, come-stained bedspread and kicked it into the wall near the door in the hopes that the maid would just pick it up that way and have it deposited directly into the laundry without examining it too closely. Normal people would tell him not to worry about such minor details, but normal people didn’t have fans trying to break into their rooms to hunt for souvenirs or clues about their so-called private lives, or worse, hotel staff trying to pinch things. That water glass on the bedside table with his lip prints on it alone would be worth a king’s ransom. It wouldn’t be the first time Micky was stunned into stillness by the absolute insanity of his job. But he shook his aching head and gulped a few Aspirin and made it out just in time to meet security. The coke had perked him up, but had also made him even more anxious and paranoid. He was escorted down to a back exit in an alley, his heart pounding in his chest, and climbed blindly into a car.

Nearly into the lap of Michael Nesmith. Who was curled up against the far door, wearing dark sunglasses, and every inch of his body language screaming “Don’t even look at me.”

Peter and Davy clambered in behind him, shoving Micky into Mike. “Jesus Christ, are you serious right now?” Micky snapped. “Can we, for once, not take a goddamn _clown car_ to get around to these gigs?”

“Temper, temper,” Peter teased.

“Micky had a long night.” Davy smirked. “What about you, Nez? Looks like you and Mick attended the same party?”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself,” Mike said, but there was no real malice in it. Just a bland statement.

“Wanker,” Davy muttered peevishly.

Micky crossed his arms over his narrow chest and slumped back against the seat as the car roared to life and pulled away, trying to make himself as small as possible. Today was going to be … a colossal drag.

But then a long arm dropped heavily around his shoulders and a hand squeezed his upper arm. Micky looked over quickly at Mike, who did not look back at him.

“It’s all right, baby,” he murmured so quietly that Micky almost thought he’d imagined it. “It’s cool. We got about ten minutes of shut-eye, I reckon.”

Micky smiled weakly and relaxed a fraction. He released a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, let his head rest on Nez’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. It was all right. It was cool.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story continues on in "Touching the Sun" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364773/chapters/46073350). Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/comments appreciated if I goofed on some of the slang terminology or Monkee-facts. Or if you just enjoyed reading it.


End file.
